To Love Another Person is to See the Face of God

Today is the year mark of my diagnosis of Stage IV colon cancer.  This has been by far the most intense year of my life, and it is bittersweet. After I was diagnosed, a friend gave me the following sign, which hangs in my entry way:

This year, I truly have been through things that were unimaginable to me pre-diagnosis.  Among them are:

·         17 rounds of chemotherapy

·          100 plus trips to the Kaiser cancer wing and Moores Cancer Center

·         Chemo side effects-such as vomiting, cold neuropathy, mouth sores, exhaustion, and dental emergencies

·         A colon and liver resection followed by a 6 day stay in Thorton Hospital

·         A major liver resection followed by a 10- day stay at Hillcrest UCSD

·         One surprise surgery with no anesthetic

·         2 surgery recoveries; Healing=pain.

·         Ominous prognoses on my life span.

·         Losing a colossal amount of hours in chemo, appointments, and recovery. 

At first glance, the bitter seems to outweigh the sweet. Yet when I think of all those who have helped carry me through this, there are too many acts of kindness to even list.  Every time I feel that the weight of this cancer ordeal will consume and crush me, someone shows up, unsolicited to lighten my burden in some way.

I have always been a choir geek.  The summer before my senior year of high school (1994), several of my good friends, my sister, and I sang in a girls choir and toured Europe for 6 weeks for the mere cost of $1200; an opportunity that will likely be both cost and safety prohibitive when my girls are in high school.  We wore geeky gingham dresses, and the caliber of the choir wasn't superb, but hey, we got to see Europe!

The director, Mr. V. had established the choir decades earlier, and was then in his 90's , carrying on his life’s work. We stayed with host families in back woods UK towns, saw the beautiful countryside, and sang "California" classics that were popular several decades earlier, like "Top of the World" by the Carpenters. 

In that era, Les Miserables, was at its height in popularity on the Broadway stage. 

The 2012 screen version starring Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway is decent, but I prefer the PBS 25th anniversary edition, and especially seeing it live onstage.  I love the message of kindness and redemption. Jean Valjean was a thief in pre-revolutionary France.  He had to steal just to eat, but then was imprisoned for 20 years.  When he was released from prison, he nearly returned to a life of stealing, when a good priest turned the other cheek and saved him from arrest even after he had attempted to steal his silver.  Jean Valjean then commits to a life of serving his fellow man.  The end of the play portrays his passing from earth life as those he served usher him into his eternal glory. On our choir tour, we saw Les Mis on Broadway in London and performed some of the songs in our concerts.   I had the opportunity to sing the part of Eponine in the epilogue.finale song with the venerable Mr. V. as Jean Valjean. 

I'll always remember the line that is sung in perfect harmony by Jean Vejean, Fantine, and Eponine before the heavenly chorus sings the finale reprise of "Do You Hear the People Sing:"

                           "And remember, the truth that once was spoken:

To love another person is to see the face of God."

The ancient Book of Mormon prophet Alma describes joy that was as “exquisite as his pain” (Alma 36).  Just as I couldn’t have imagined having to "walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” (Psalm 23), I also could never have imagined the infinite goodness and kindness that others have shown to me. I have truly been met with a tenderness that is divine. 

The current prophet of the LDS Church, Thomas S. Monson has said:

"We are surrounded by those in need of our attention, our encouragement, our support, our comfort, our kindness—be they family members, friends, acquaintances, strangers.”

As a result of this journey, I have found that strangers and acquaintances have become friends, friends have become family, and family has become more dear. I have seen the very best of humanity, and if there is one lesson I have learned, it’s to always give others the benefit of the doubt and to never be cynical.  I think back to Conan O’Brien’s final speech on his brief run with NBC’s Tonight show and his message has always stuck with me:

Conan speaks of his supporters making a sad situation joyous and inspirational, and that is exactly what I have seen as I have witnessed an incredible outpouring of support.

In Conan's words:  "If you work really hard and are kind, amazing things will happen."

The scriptures use the term “works of God” to describe these amazing things.  When I was first diagnosed, the question Why me weighed heavily on my mind, and I’ll admit it still does sometimes, a year later. While I have not received a scientifically sound response, the impression of a scripture from the New Testament  that I studied while receiving welfare training in the MTC to serve as a missionary in Honduras has come to mind:

1. And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth.

 2 And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?

 3 Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.

                                                                                                                          (John 9:1-3)

Throughout my cancer journey, I have truly seen the works of God made manifest in my life.  Although I would never have wished for this fight or would wish it on anyone else, I can say emphatically that I know that the hand of the Lord has been present in my life, because I have not had to fight alone, even for a minute. 

Here are just a few amazing things I have witnessed this year. Like this quilt that my dear friend Amber put together to show me that I was loved by many far and wide, I have seen a tapestry of service on my behalf. 

I feel that such an outpouring is undeserved, and that I will never be able to repay it, but I have been amazed to find that seemingly small ways I had reached out to others throughout my life has mattered more than I could have possibly imagined.  I have learned that nothing matters more than our relationships with others and how we treat them. 

Here are just a few ways in which the works of God have been made manifest in my life this past year.  This list is far from comprehensive:  

• My sweet husband who researches avidly, fights relentlessly, and loves me unconditionally even when chemo and surgery side effects make me ornery. 

• My dad who is always willing to give up entire days to drive me to chemo or appointments.
• My mom who takes care of my girls, helps clean my house, and stayed up with me 2 nights as I cried in post-surgery pain. 
• My in-laws who put me up in a hotel room just so I could be strong enough to make a flight for my BYU-Idaho conference as I recovered from surgery.
• My sister who sacrificed time away from her family to stay with me for a week at a time after both my surgeries and drove down from Utah just to take me to chemo.
  
• My brother, who drove out the minute I got diagnosed to make me laugh as I faced the bad news.
  
• My brother who is great at being my chemo buddy and watching dumb movies with me so that I don’t have to think about my last chemo or oncology visit. 
  
• My cousin who sacrificed time away from her family to hang out and take me to an awesome concert  my final weekend before surgery.
  
• Friends who have had my kids over and have driven them around when I couldn’t drive or was sick from chemo. 
• A friend who has sent me countless entertaining novels so I would have something to read in chemo and in the hospital.
  
• A friend who did a beautiful photo-shoot free of charge of my family before I started chemo.  
  
• A friend who always has a fresh-baked loaf of bread for me to settle my stomach after chemo.
• My cousin who flew out from North Carolina just to take me to chemo.
• A dear friend who flew out from Kansas just to reminisce about our college days and to help me unwind.
  
• My sister-in-law who drove an hour and a half just to clean out my closet
• My sister-in-law who takes my kids on chemo days and helps organize my house.
• My "sisters" from church who have cleaned my house from top to bottom several times.  
• Friends who delivered no less than 100 dinners during my chemo and post -surgery weeks.
•  Friends and family spending their Saturday morning to run 2 colon cancer 5K’s with me.
  
  
  
  
• Many friends and family who have generously donated to relieve our medical bills; some at great sacrifice. 
• Family who wear Team Carmen shirts, even remotely, just to show their support.
  
• Friends walking with me when I couldn’t walk on my own; literally and figuratively
  
•   Old friends I hadn’t seen in 15-20 years reconnecting with me and even visiting!
  
•  A friend who faithfully texts me each time I have chemo to check in.  
• A friend who prays for ways to show her support, and truly delivers!
• Family members and friends dropping everything to come see me in the hospital and hold my hand post-surgery.
  
  
  
  
  
• Friends dropping everything to take me to chemo or to appointments.
• Friends who leave love notes on my door for my first post-chemo homecoming.
  
  
  
• Friends who have gone to the store for me.
•  Friends and family who have sent or delivered flowers to brighten my day.
• Friends who have cried with me.  
• Friends who take me out and make me laugh until I forget I have any reason to cry.
  
•   Friends far and wide who send gifts and cards just to let me know they are thinking of me.
•     Neighbors who have done our yard work and have helped repair our cards. 
• Friends who  are willing to sit through the grueling ordeal of chemo with me.  One not only accompanies me to chemo but has created 2 sets of costumes for fun photo shoots. 
  
• Family and Friends who fast for me.
• Family Friends who put my name on their church and temple prayer rolls (I loved that an entire Catholic mass was dedicated in my name!
•  Friends who pray daily for me.

      On this day, I have accomplished a milestone which the oncologist who gave me my first diagnosis said I would not have met had I not caught this and had it gone untreated.  I am alive and feeling pretty alright on my off-chemo weeks.  Hey, today I even did an ab workout, and I can now run- well jog.

Yet The fight continues on. Although I would much rather have put this behind me and be on the giving end rather than the receiving end of such service, I am so grateful to all my family and friends, who remind me daily that the works of God are made manifest in my life. 

A Little Black Spot

I recently got the good news that the PT scan I did at the end of July did not reveal any more tumors than the 1.5 centimeter one which my oncologist discussed with me the day he broke the news that my cancer had returned, and was found in my liver.  Family members and those that are closest to me were thrilled.  I am relieved that there aren’t more tumors at this time, and I should be celebrating too, but for me, celebration will come the day I am released from chemo and have been declared “No Evidence of Disease” at the milestone marker at which there is little risk of the cancer returning. In the meantime, I cling to the hope that things are heading in the right direction, and that with only one tumor now, victory is possible.  I will put on a brave happy face for myself, for my family, and for anyone who asks.

However, sleep at night still doesn’t come so easily.  I had hoped that maybe the intense chemo I’m doing could obliterate this one tumor, but my oncologist explained that although chemotherapy can shrink the tumor, it will never get rid of it.  The cell still has the potential to multiply and spread, but if the chemo can control it, both another surgery and or radiation may become options.  

When I asked my oncologist what my surgical options might be, he responded with a question:

“Do you remember what I said before you proceeded with your first surgery?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “You said that you were indifferent as to whether or not I did the surgery because the risk of the cancer returning was so high.”

He affirmed that my memory was correct, and then explained that the situation would be the same for any surgery I might choose to do in the future.
  
“You explained that the surgery was a slim chance for a cure, so I jumped at it because it was my only chance,” I recalled.

He then said that if he were in my shoes, he would have done the same thing.  Hmmm, so does this mean that as my oncologist, he would protect me from the risks of surgery and as a human being, he would advise me to do it to fight for my life?  I don’t know, but in this battle I find myself continually in the wake of feeling damned if I do or damned if I don’t when it comes to my fighting options.  In this context, damned doesn't necessarily mean hell-bound, but trapped, or surrounded on all sides. 

Radiation may also be a possibility.  My oncologist did not want to discuss too much before we know what the next scan in October will bring.  He explained that I am on a bridge that is still being built, as my case is rare and there is not current data to support the possible success of treatments.  I am currently doing a gold standard of treatment, but the future will likely put me in the experimental realm.  

Lately, I wonder how long I will have to fight this battle.  As I approach my year mark this week knowing there is no resolution, the unrelenting intensity at times feels overwhelming. Although I can’t say I will ever get used to chemo, it has become routine, and I feel like pain in my middle name.  It actually literally is.  Dolores, after my grandmother means pain in Spanish!  The Police’s “King of Pain” has been “running through my brain” lately.

I was about 7 years old when this song came out:

This week was our first week of school.  Here is picture of me, sister, Natalie, and uncle Joe on our first day of school in 1984.  Below is my kiddos on their first day of school in 2016! 

I listened to the song, and then read the lyrics, and felt they are so relate-able to my current situation:

There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday

There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
There's a flag pole rag and the wind won't stop
There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall
There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
There's a blue whale beached by a springtime's ebb.

There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web

I've stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain.

I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign,
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain.

Sting discusses various scenarios in which living creatures or elements of nature are trapped between a rock and a hard place.  I pray that this reign as “the queen of pain” will end soon, but at present, due to the hard facts of Stage Iv cancer, I am feeling stuck.  

Then I am also reminded that no matter how bleak things may appear at the moment, I will never be permanently stuck.  Although I have been on an emotional roller coaster for the past year, I find that I do have quiet moments which remind me that in one way or another, everything will be alright.  

One of these moments came when a sweet couple in our church congregation, who had been through a cancer struggle 35 years ago took the time during Sunday school to share with us how she was healed after a brutal fight, and that they were confident that I would heal too. 

Another of these moments came at Church when my friend's sweet little girl sang "Gethsemane" which teaches that because Christ overcame sickness, sin, and death through His infinite and eternal atonement, so that none of us are every permanently stuck. 

Lately, I have been discouraged because I feel that there is no end in sight to suffering through cancer.  I have recently had the impression that even though Christ's suffering in Gethsemane is recorded as a finite event, that the sacrifice is also "infinite and eternal," meaning that its likely that time stood still, and that suffering seemed to have no end, even for Jesus Christ, who was divine.

In the book of Luke in the New Testament, we get just a glimpse of how much Christ suffered.  He bled from every pore, and in agony cried out, "If thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done" (Luke 22:42). 

But the bitter cup could not be removed at that moment so that He could "loose the bands of death which bind his people; and ,,,,take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities" (Alma 7:12). 

 As this sweet song teaches, "The fight was won by Jesus."

With the fight already won, this means that I too will win my fight in due time. 

Be OK

After my last round of chemo, it took about 3 extra days for the toxins to leave my system.  By the Friday following though, I felt pretty OK.  I had a fantastic 7 days without much of a care.  It was my last full summer week with the girls, as the real final week will be absorbed with chemo.  So, I decided to "soak up the sun" like in this song by Sheryl Crow. 

Most of the activities I did had little planning, but they all miraculously panned out.  This was the best week I had in a long time.  I got to:

• Start working out again; I did a legs and arms circuit, kickboxing workout, and went jogging!
• Have some fantastic visitors, such as my bishop from BYU 20 years ago, Van Gessel.  One of the silver linings of this journey has been that I get to re-connect with a lot of amazing people from my past, which definitely helps me to fight on. 
  
• Spend a weekend at my parents’ time share in Carlsbad.  We got some good beach time and pool time here.  Here’s the girls gazing out from our deck:

• Go to breakfast with some great friends.
  
• Watch my girls perform in a summer camp abridged version of “Annie.”  Carissa was Annie and Carleigh was Lilly.
  

• Take the girls to the American Girl doll store for an early 8^th birthday celebration for Carleigh. 

• Have a great swim play date with some fabulous friends.
  
  
  
  

• Spend a day with Carl and the girls, my folks, and our friends The Harrises out on a boat at Lake Perris. 
  

• Have some friends over to watch the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympic Games. 

• Speak at my nephew, Brett's baptism.
  

I had a PT scan on July 29, to verify that the cancer hopefully  hasn’t spread beyond the one tumor which was found in the liver.  Normally,  Carl especially and I would be anxiously calling UCSD about the results of the scan, but this week we decided we should  just assume that no news was good news, and take a break from cancer.

Cancer? What cancer?  Maybe I could handle this boomerang routine as long as I could make the most of my good days.   

Just as the weekend before Round 2 of this chemo cycle approached though, I felt a strange bump emerge on my upper gums.  Did I forget to swallow a grape?  Nope, a closer look revealed that this was some type of infection.  Normally, my dentist office was closed on Fridays, but luckily, Carl already had an appointment for a crown, so I was able to sneak in with him and get an X-ray.  I found out I would need another root canal!  I had my last one exactly a month ago!  This was bad news, because last time I had to do a root canal, my oncologist postponed my chemo for 2 weeks.  Whether or not the delayed chemo was the cause of the cancer sneaking back I’ll never know, but I wasn’t willing to take that chance again. 

When I asked my dentist office if I could do something to improve my already-decent dental hygiene, they said  no, that recurring infections were actually common in chemothereapy patients!  This is a real conundrum; I'm not supposed to have dental work done during chemo yet the chemo is the source of the dental issues.  Thankfully, my dentist office agreed to schedule my root canal appointments on my off chemo weeks.  The only problem is that on this next chemo round, the plan is to start anew on a drug called Avastin, which prevents healing.  Yet I can’t just not get a root canal, so all I can do is hope that I’ll be OK balancing my dental appointments between my chemo ones. 
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This morning, I had a low platelet count again.  I was told that it was right on the cusp of the minimum amount it should be- at 80, and that my doctor would possibly cancel it.  Well, this would really throw off my needed root canal plans, and my ability to take my baby kindergartner to school on her first week, so with all the gumption I had, I begged every receptionist who could page my oncologist to please proceed with the treatment today, and thankfully he gave the green light. Thankfully, my sister Natalie had driven out from Utah to take me to chemo and was there to soothe me while I hyperventilated a little. 

In order to stay on top of my treatment and everything else, I feel that I have to both rebound like a boomerang and walk a tightrope, and unfortunately, I have never been that coordinated.  

I have to balance the chemo treatment, its side effects, and then make  sure that the treatment for the side effects don’t clash with the fighting  chemo agents or the cancer itself. 

All I can do is hope and pray that I’ll “be OK.”  The fear that I won’t oftentimes keeps me up at night, and I am searching for ways to calm down and take more control of a seemingly uncontrollable situation.

The following song by Ingrid Michaelson, which was recommended to me by a friend from the “Sad Songs” post perfectly captures how I am feeling at the moment.  It seems that I am constantly getting hit with one crisis or another, and this will likely be the case as long as I am on chemo.  I just wanna be OK, or know that I'll be OK:

Last week, my mom took me to visit a friend who has fought Stage 4 lung cancer for several years.  She said that even though she was still receiving treatments, that she felt better than she ever had and felt truly at peace. When I asked her how she finally came to terms with having to fight cancer indefinitely, and she said she would ask herself, “Do I feel like I’m going to die tomorrow, next week, next month, next year…?” and the answer was always “No.”

At present I feel very much alive, and despite troubling prognoses I have heard in past appointments, that much I can hold onto, and feel that maybe I’ll be OK.  

What I do know is that I am not fighting this alone.  This past week, the friends I have seen and talked with via phone and text have all encouraged me emphatically to "fight on."  Yesterday I received a bracelet with the following sentiment from a sweet friend:

My friend reminded me that she prays for me morning and night, as I know that many of my friends and family do, and this is another solid truth I can hold onto in the face of so many variables and unknowns.  If I fall off the tightrope at times, I know there will be friends there to catch me or hold me up like in Ingrid's "Be OK" video.  

These friends were there to lift me up at today's chemo session.  We decided it was time to give the typical "fight round" pictures a little lift.  I'm thankful to my awesome friends,  Amber and Kathleen for facilitating and coming out for our special Rosie the Riveter photo shoot!  I'm thankful that my sister was there to participate, and Seth even joined in late, but he forgot his bandanna. 

We Can Do It!!!!!!

Just having the enthusiastic support of good friends and my family made this chemo session more OK!